Pole Dance
by slazenger1234
Summary: Where Heather phones Naya about the video and unexpected things from the past come back to life. Angst. HeYa fic.


You stare at your phone for a few seconds making sure that you're not imagining the name flashing on your screen. You can't really blame yourself for thinking that because these days, _this_ is a rare occasion. Maybe it's a pocket dial which is okay because you're not really in the mood to talk to anyone because you just found out something you did years ago just surfaced on to the internet and everyone's yapping on about it.

You take a deep breath before swiping your thumb across the screen.

"Hey, what's up?" you ask casually.

"Hi Nay, nothing I just called to see how you're doing?" she says it like it's the most normal thing to do ever and you think maybe last year it would've been normal but now the sound of her voice on the other end seems so foreign.

You take a pause because you're not really sure what she's asking or why she's asking.

"Yeah, I'm alright, Heather. Why do you ask?" you kind of know why because it's easy to piece the puzzle together. You did the same thing months back when she had the same-_ish_ dilemma but you just want to hear her say it, for selfish reasons.

"Because, I just heard about, "she takes a pause, "the video."

You don't really like the way she says it like it's a freaking sex tape because, well it isn't. Yeah it's sexual and yeah you cringed mightily at the sight of your twenty year old self doing something so goddamn stupid but it's not all _that _bad. At least you weren't naked, but maybe you shouldn't really say that.

You do what you do best and you laugh it off. It worked for everyone else on the fucking internet so it'll probably work for her too. "Oh yeah, that was a stupid phase in my life, I thought I was hot enough to strut my stuff."

Except you know lying doesn't work. The usual excuses that work for others don't really work for her and it really bothers you that she can _still_ figure you out.

"I know you're upset. I can hear it in your voice, your laugh is nervous, not amused." She says, further proving your point and you roll your eyes.

You hate that she knows you so well, even sometimes better than yourself and that's saying something because you haven't spent much time together the past few months.

"I'm fine, really, it's all good." You say with as much conviction as you can muster.

You kind of laugh at yourself because it's petty that you're giving her the same treatment she gave you when you phoned her all those months ago.

"Do you want me to come over?" she asks, her voice determined.

That was the one question you didn't ask her. You didn't ask her because you already knew the answer.

"Listen Heather, thank you for calling but really, I'm good and I have to go, some errands to run." You don't even bother explaining because she doesn't have to know. She doesn't have the right to know.

You sense that she knows you're lying but you can't bring yourself to care too much. "Well if you change your mind just gi—"

"Thanks, Heather. I'll let you know." You say before hanging up, not even bothering to hear her reply. It's a bitchy move, you're aware of that but you know she can't just barge back into your life.

It's better this way.

/

You get another phone call, this time from your PR, to strategize a 'clean up' for the said video. You don't really care that much for them to go to lengths and get it wiped off the internet.

What's the point? Thousands of people have already seen it and though you know you will get some hate for it, it's probably going to die down soon so you convince them to take a chill pill and just leave it. With much hesitation, you were finally able to persuade them.

It's been a long day and you really just want to go to bed. Your room is a mess because you just got back from New York and unpacking hasn't happened yet but that's not really what's bothering you.

Your mind is still set on the phone call you were engaged in much earlier and you feel guilt. You feel like an ungrateful bitch to a friend who cares. Yeah that's right, a _friend._

You sigh at the term. Were you ever really _just_ friends? Because before all of the fame and attention you both got, way before complications showed up and people over analyzing everything, you knew it was more than just a friendship.

The last three years of your life has involved her, _revolved_ around her. But no one knows that completely, not even her.

There was that interview about the last episode being filmed and they asked you about the friendships you've made on the show and you tried so fucking hard not to mention her at all even though it killed you inside. Yes, you're friends with everyone but her; she fucking changed your life.

The moment she walked in, you knew it was different.

And hell, were you right.

Now you're sitting here remembering all the memories and the sad part is she's not here with you. Nor you think you would make any more memories with her. Not the ones from the show, that's going to continue, but the intimate things; things that only you and her know. That's long gone.

What makes it more difficult is that everyone seems to be catching on. Old photos surfacing on the internet, videos, people are good at digging up things from the past and it scares you.

Not because you're ashamed, hell you will _never _ be ashamed, but because it's the one thing you treat so sacredly. It's the one thing that you really treasure.

You've tried so hard to move on and it was working. Well, you thought it was and then stupid fucking internet, they've resurfaced. Along with those simple comments, your true feelings have broken free from the rooms you tried to lock them in, deep in your heart of hearts.

It annoys you that the combination of what just happened a few hours ago is sending you to the place where you really don't want to be in.

/

You hear a car screeching to a halt just outside your house and normally you would have totally ignored it if it wasn't followed by your doorbell.

It's just past midnight and you're really not expecting anyone because you turned your phone off and have resorted to watching re-runs of crappy television shows in your sweats, eating a tub of ice cream and if you didn't already feel like a lame cliché, you do now.

Not bothering to put the show on pause, you lazily get up to walk towards the door.

Sometimes having part of your front door made up of translucent glass is good because you could immediately see who's standing outside. This time around, you don't think it's such a good idea because now, you wish you never bothered leaving the couch.

The unmistakeable blonde hair kind of gives it away. Hair all bunched up into a messy bun, she's wearing a hoodie and her favourite pink leather jacket she wears _all the time_ and a pair of grey sweats. You didn't need any more information to know it's _her._

You don't really have a choice now, do you?

It was easier to brush her off over the phone, which you still feel bad about, but now she's at your doorstep turning her away is not even an option.

You open the door and instantly, your heart feels a lighter just at the sight of her. It's ridiculous.

"Hey, Hemo." You haven't called her that name in a long time but somehow you think it's kind of appropriate.

She smiles, acknowledging your use of her nickname. "I was in the neighbourhood and I didn't know if you've moved but I thought I'd come by, help you pack, or something."

You suddenly feel guilty for a lot of other things, like not telling her when you're moving; something that you probably would have told her first back in the day.

"Yeah, I don't move for another couple of weeks but you can come in if you want, I'm just watching shit TV." You let her know she's welcome without sounding too interested.

She mouths a 'thanks' as she steps over the threshold and into your hallway.

"Actually, I was hoping you weren't packing." She blurts out and you turn around to meet her eyes. "I was hoping you were being lazy and not doing anything." She raises a plastic bag she's been holding (and you didn't even notice because you were too busy looking at her).

You chuckle, like a genuine unadulterated chuckle, because she is still as adorable as the first day you met her.

"Ice cream?" she asks, already heading to your kitchen like she lives there.

She kind of did many moons ago.

/

You hate that she still has this effect on you; the one where your skin tingles wherever her fingertips brushes your hand. She's a touchy person, it's who she is. She likes to caress your hands, squeeze your arm, and slap your leg. It's just her.

And it shouldn't really matter all that much if you aren't so fucking in love with her.

If you aren't trying _not to be_ in love with her.

So that's really where the problem lies and you've been trying to figure out how to get rid of this feeling but somehow it hasn't happened yet.

Not that you've helped your case by letting her sit this close to you while watching TV. Actually, you're just staring blankly ahead, afraid that engaging into the moment will throw you deeper into the well of misery.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asks, you see her shift her whole body so now she's facing you, knees bumping your thigh.

Why does she have to be so perceptive?

You scoff at the question. Her face falls slightly and you feel bad straight away.

"There's really nothing to talk about. It was a stupid old video and I was a stupid twenty year old trying everything to get an acting gig. It's done; I can't do anything about it." You answer her, as nicely as possible.

"Naya, you know it's okay to admit you're upset about it. You can talk to me." Her hand reaches out to hold yours and even though you really want to pull it away, you don't because she feels warm to touch and somehow that still gives you comfort.

"How did we get here? When did we get like this?"

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself and now she's looking at you, confused and hurt and all the things you really don't want to see right now.

"What do you mean?"

Now it isn't about the video anymore, it's about her calling you, asking how you're doing, coming over, eating ice cream with you while you sit and watch TV. It's about her bringing the past back to you.

"You call me, out of nowhere, ask me about my life and the next thing I know you're standing outside my door, telling me a silly excuse about being in the neighbourhood—"

"But I was in the —"

"Heather," you emphasize the use of her full name, "you live in the fucking neighbourhood remember? _Why_ are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" she asks, and it pisses you off that she doesn't give your more credit than you deserve. Does she think you can't read her?

"Stop, just stop." You stand up from the couch and now you're looking down at her, "I can't deal with any more bullshit. Just tell me _why._"

Your eyes are tearing up and it only dawns on you how upset you really are about the video, about the old photos, about _everything_.

You're expecting her to shout at you and tell you how ungrateful you are for being such a bitch about a friend asking another friend if she's okay but she doesn't. She just remains seated on the couch, fiddling with her hands, looking down.

You let out a deep breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"I don't know." She whispers her blue eyes staring right back at you.

Her words are pregnant with meanings you really can't decipher at the moment and it is making you feel so fucking confused.

"Well, can you please…" you swallow the lump in your throat, the one that's keeping you from _really_ crying, "…figure it out because I'm really not in the mood to—"

"I think I'm still in love with you." She cuts you off and you gawk at her revelation.

"You _think_?" It's madness, really. How things are just flying towards you out of nowhere and you feel like you've been sent to war without enough training, or ammunition, or protection.

"Naya, I'm just…I've been so confused and I don't know how we got here. Why we got here. We don't even talk anymore, we used to talk _all the time_, about everything and now I feel like we're strangers. I see all our old photos and the feelings I have are still there but I don't know if it's because I'm in love with you or the idea of you, of us. Of the _old_ us." She explains, tears streaming down her face. It's such a painful sight, to see her cry is the worst thing in the world.

You want to hug her. You want to kiss the sadness away but what good is that to both of you? Your heart is aching to tell her that you feel the same but there's that voice in your head telling you to stop and be rational. If it didn't work before, what makes you think it will work now? Now that there's more to lose isn't it more complicated? There are other people involved, all under the scrutiny of the public eye. Do you really think you can both handle that? She's not even _sure._

You sit back down, taking both her hands. You're both crying and it's silly to think that the last time you cried together was when you both got the news about being season regulars. You promised each other that nothing will change. That may have jinxed everything.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this."

It hurts to see the hope in her eyes fade, her beautiful features crumpling in rejection. But it hurts even more to sit here and lie. To tell both her and yourself that you don't feel the same because if there's one thing you know, it's that it's always been her. For three and a half years, she's been the only one and even though there might have been others who tried to replace her, your heart has always known its owner.

So yeah, it fucking pains you to see her wipe the tears from her eyes and get up from the couch. It kills you to hear the sound of her footsteps fade from where you're sat. And most of all, it just tears your heart to pieces to hear the door slam behind her because you know that isn't the only door she's closed forever.

You try to convince yourself, a million times, that the pain is worth it and the sad thing is that you know that's a lie.

So you cry even more.


End file.
